


Society's Anxiety

by phalangine



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Still Have Powers, Erik is a Big Dorkface, Friends With Benefits, Honestly Charles What Are You Thinking, M/M, Pining, brief bit of erik/magda but y'all know it won't last, raven wants charles and erik to Tone It Tf Down
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-24
Updated: 2016-11-24
Packaged: 2018-09-01 22:54:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8641348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalangine/pseuds/phalangine
Summary: The day Charles Xavier's soulmate counter reaches zero is also the day he meets Erik Lehnsherr. It never occurs to him that that might mean something.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [endingthemes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/endingthemes/gifts).



> Title from Stephen's [Crossfire](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eH4F1Tdb040)

Winter has settled itself firmly over New York when, after nearly five years of hiding, Charles gets caught out.

It's his own fault, really. He hasn’t drunk nearly enough to pretend he’s forgotten to be careful of how he pushes Erik.

"Come on, then," Erik challenges lowly, not letting the subject drop. He catches Charles by the elbow- not so tightly it can’t be shaken off, but firm enough that Charles knows he means business- and gives him a little shake. "You show me your wrist, and I'll show you mine."

For some reason, Charles doesn't refuse. Maybe it's how tired he is. How weary he is of being the only one who knows. Maybe he's drunker than he thinks. The reason why hardly matters. In the end, he reaches up and slips off his watch regardless. Erik's eyes go wide as Charles slides his sleeve up his arm, revealing what ought to be a counter, running a countdown to meeting his soulmate. In its place is a string of zeroes.

"There it is," Charles says pointlessly. He tries and fails not to sound as bitter as he feels. "I'm a void."

 

***

 

The party is Raven's idea. One last hurrah for the adults before the school officially opens and the students arrive. Moira is the one who did the heavy lifting for making it a reality- most of which was already in place before Raven asked. Charles doesn't mind as much as he might have, though. His counter is getting close to zero. The mansion is alive with their guests. Most of them are friends of Moira and Raven, but there are a few of Charles' friends running around. Even Lilandra came. She gives Charles a nod as he wheels past, which he returns.

In his distraction, he doesn't notice the men who have moved into the doorway until it's too late. He collides with them with yelps from the strangers and a cuss from Charles. He wasn't going terribly quickly, so the damage can't be great, and normally he would apologize and make sure the unfortunate people are all right anyway. But this evening is different. This evening is the one his counter hits zero, and he can't waste a single second lest he miss his match.

One of his victims says something too low to catch, but the burst of confused emotion in the man's mind is impossible to miss.

"So sorry!" Charles calls, even as he backs away and makes for the other door.

When he checks his wrist again, he's in the kitchen, alone, and his skin reads **00:00:00:00**.

He stares at it for a long time. The rush of the party he had been enjoying earlier is now a wall of indistinct mumbles, walling him out. He can't find any familiar minds to ground him, can't figure out if that's good or not. Grief is knocking at his mind; sooner or later, the shock of not having a soulmate will sink in. And when it does, it won't be pretty.

Charles is running on autopilot when he slips a sweater on over his t-shirt and heads out to the edge of the trees where none of the guests have bothered venturing, too busy poking around the mansion or playing games in the back.

He's staring at the neatly manicured brush when a voice says, "So this is where you've been hiding."

Startling, Charles looks to the side and only then notices the man standing beside him. "Pardon?" he asks, scrambling to remember the man and coming up empty. Which is bizarre, because Charles would definitely remember someone as striking as this.

As if sensing Charles' confusion, the man gives him a toothy grin and holds out a hand as he explains, "Erik Lehnsherr. I know your sister."

Accepting the handshake, Charles introduces himself in return, which gets him a nod from Erik.

"I’m terribly sorry, but do I know you?"

"Not exactly, though you did knock me over earlier."

Mortified, Charles scrambles for an explanation that won’t implicate his voided counter, only to be saved by Erik.

"You seemed distressed, so I thought I'd see if I could help."

"Do you come to the rescue of every harried party host?" Charles asks in relief, quirking a brow in genuine curiosity.

Erik's expression turns sly. "Only the good-looking ones."

Even if he weren't a telepath, Charles would recognize that tone anywhere. He hasn't had a one night stand in ages, and with his counter nullified, a part of him would like nothing more than to be left alone to grieve. A larger, louder part of him says forget mourning; here's a good-looking distraction who wants to be the end to Charles' dry spell.

"Things are going to be more complicated than usual," Charles warns. He gestures to his chair.

Erik tilts his head as if in thought before giving it a shake. "I'm a quick learner."

It isn't entirely a flirty repartee. There's a thread of determination under the banter. Erik is prepared to work for it, one way or another.

Yet Charles can't just give in. "If you know Raven," he says slowly, "then you know I'm a telepath."

"Is there a question in there?" Erik shrugs, almost to himself. "I don't have a problem having you in my head, so long as you don't go where you aren't welcome."

 _He's done this before_ , Charles realizes as he extends a tendril of his gift toward Erik’s mind. Not only that, but Erik's mind has clear barriers in place. Charles could break through them if he wanted to- and he does, but only a little, intrigued by the call of forbidden places the way any man is- but they serve as clear markers of what is off-limits. They are formed perfectly, blending almost seamlessly into Erik’s psyche.

 _How much is innate,_ Charles thinks to himself, _and how much is learned?_

"For the record," Erik says idly, breaking Charles' wondering, "I'm a metallokinetic."

"I've never heard of one of those," Charles says, interest immediately piqued in the new direction.

"I'll give you a demonstration if you like," Erik purrs, eyes dancing, and just like that, any reservations Charles had melt away.

"Give me fifteen minutes," he orders. "I'll guide you to my room telepathically once I'm ready."

Erik's smile turns smug. _Don't keep me waiting for too long._

With a little help from his gift, Charles doesn't make him wait long at all.

 

***

 

Things go off without a hitch- except once. Charles hesitates in stripping off his cardigan. How is he going to keep his counter covered?

Again, it’s Erik who answers the quandary. He quickly stills Charles’ hands and tells him not to bother, easily moving over to press open-mouthed kisses to Charles' neck.

After, Erik falls asleep before Charles can gather his thoughts enough to ask about whether the man wants to stay the night.

Charles finds he doesn't mind the extra body in his bed.

 

***

 

Charles is dozing lightly, one hand resting on the small of Erik's back, lulled by tracing the curves and planes of Erik's body in the weak moonlight, when Erik's entire body twitches. He jerks upright, eyes flying open, and his mind, where Charles has a tendril of his gift touching it, rushes from the quiet whirring of dream thoughts to wild-eyed panic. Without meaning to, Charles bats at a cloudy part of Erik's psyche. It doesn't quite disperse, but it slides back far enough not to be such an eyesore.

"It's all right," he murmurs, still half asleep, as Erik sags. "Just a memory."

"What did you do?" Erik asks roughly.

"Nothing."

_"Charles."_

Sighing, Charles rouses himself enough to answer, "I pushed it back. You won't lose it- it's just going to be quieter for a couple hours."

"You realize that was invasive."

"I'm sorry. Did you want me to let you suffer?"

Erik blows out a breath. "Just... don't do that again."

"Sure thing." Now fully awake, Charles rubs a hand over his face. "Are you going to lie back down, or is this goodbye?"

"Please,” Erik says with a huff. “I'm sticking it out for free breakfast."

"You might regret that," Charles warns as Erik scoots back under the covers. "I'm not a very good cook."

"Neither am I," Erik admits. "We'll see whose breakfast turns out worse in the morning."

Charles smiles and, after a moment's consideration, returns his hand to Erik's back. "Loser has to pester Raven for pancakes."

"You're on."

 

***

 

Erik's breakfast is worse by virtue of him dropping both plates of eggs onto the floor. He stares at them for a long moment before blowing out a breath and grumbling about ceramics.

Charles doesn’t howl with laughter at the sound of the rumpled man’s vengeful thoughts, but the noise he does make is too loud to cover with a cough. He tries anyway.

"Where's your broom?" Erik asks once he's finished glaring at the broken dinnerware.

Before Charles can answer, Raven stumbles in. She takes one look between them, then hangs her head. Lifting her eyes, she asks weakly, "If I clean up, will you please not tell me anything?"

"Throw in pancakes, and you've got a deal," Charles says amiably, to which his sister quickly agrees.

As she gets to work finding the broom, Erik slides into the chair opposite Charles. It takes him an entire ten seconds to announce, "I want to do that again."

"It's a little soon, isn't it?" Charles asks, raising his brows. A flicker of annoyance crosses Erik's face, and Charles belatedly recognizes the words for what they are- and what they cost. Erik, Charles is coming to suspect, is not a person used to asking for what he wants plainly. Sobering, Charles reaches with one hand to take hold of one of Erik's. "I'd like that, too," he says softly. Then, unable to resist, "You're not a bad lay."

Erik snorts. "I'm better than that."

"Please," Raven whines from the doorway, "please, stop. It's bad enough knowing you did what you did. Don't give me details."

Charles cranes his neck to give her an apologetic smile, while Erik settles for a snort and a shake of his head.

They get pancakes despite Raven's insistence that they didn't hold up their end of the bargain, and the three of them end up talking hunched over their plates, talking about the school. It isn't until Erik makes a passing comment about "human aggressors" that the pieces click together and Charles drops his fork.

"You're Magneto?" he asks, voice rising.

Erik blinks for a moment, visibly thrown, before whipping his head toward Raven and hissing, "How does he know about that?"

Raven's blue cheeks turn purple with a blush. "I may have mentioned you a couple times."

"A couple? Raven, he was all you talked about for months."

"Yeah, but I didn't think you actually listened," Raven says hastily.

Charles frowns. "Of course I listened. I don't think I ever saw you so happy as you were after talking with him. Your mind was always brighter, more alive, after talking with this 'Magneto' character. I didn't have to like what you said to listen."

Raven's eyes well up, and without an awareness of her mind, Charles gets a horrible sense that he's put his foot in his mouth again. Then his sister drags herself to her feet and throws her arms around him.

"I love you, you ass," she says with a sniffle, and Charles feels himself smile as he puts an arm around her shoulders.

Across from them, Erik gives Charles a wink and takes a bite of pancake.

Hours later, when Charles is just realizing he forgot to ask Erik for his number, he finds a slip of paper tucked into the pocket of his cardigan with Erik’s name and a phone number.

 

***

 

It isn’t that Charles didn’t try to find his soulmate. He got the list of invitees the day after the party and spent a week looking over the list, crossing out people he had met before the party, deliberating over whether to call the ones he hadn’t. In the end, it was just too much. The list was massive, and Charles simply didn’t have the time to be chasing after ghosts, many of whom would be in other countries. That’s what he gets for having an actress for a sister. All her friends are practically nomadic. That so many of them managed to make it to her party is a miracle in its own right.

With no other choice, Charles reluctantly accepts the inevitable: his soulmate, whoever they are, is long gone.

He doesn’t quite manage to stop wondering why they never came looking for him, though.

 

***

 

Somehow, without meaning to, meeting up with Erik becomes a habit. From habit, they silently grow into friends. Albeit ones with benefits. But the friends part comes first. Despite the man's brash, take-no-prisoners attitude and tendency to solve problems with creative destruction, Charles finds himself relaxing when Erik is around. Even before they fuck, just the sight of Erik makes the tense muscles in Charles' back loosen.

Today was no different. Exhausted from running the school and lonelier than he's used to being, Charles gravitated to Erik almost unconsciously. Erik was as accommodating as he always is. Flirty and challenging- the perfect combination for knocking Charles out of his own head.

Sweat and quiet curses replace the incessant hum of Charles’ insecurities.

Afterwards, Charles lies in Erik's bed, comfortably drowsy, and listens to Erik sketch. Charles can't help but float his gift over. It’s another safe- one of Erik’s own designs, sleek and growing impenetrable. _This is new,_ Erik thinks, _and this isn’t working,_ turning Charles’ attention to one element or another.

Erik's mind is so open, Charles can't help but guiltily run his left thumb over the sleeve of his cardigan. Beneath, the zeroes on his wrist burn lightly as they always do. He shouldn't feel so bad about keeping his counter secret. Lots of people do. Even Erik does- he wears a thin metal bangle around his wrist that, so far as Charles as seen, never comes off.

"You're in an odd mood," Erik observes softly without looking up from his sketchpad. "I usually don't feel you in my head."

Caught out, Charles groans and pulls the covers over his head. An alternate explanation is easy to find. "I'm dying."

"It's only November. You'll figure it out."

"They're impossible."

Erik snorts. "They're children."

"But-"

"Charles." Erik's voice turns serious. When Charles lowers the blanket and looks up at him, Erik is regarding him with somber eyes. "You are giving mutant children a future. Far too many of us fall through the cracks- but here you are, a safety net for them.” His voice turns rough. “Do you have any idea what I would have given for a place like your school?"

Erik has been frugal with his history, but over time, Charles has gleaned bits of it. Happy family, baseline relatives, dealings with a mutant gang in the city before he moved upstate.

"I'm not going to quit," Charles says softly, reaching up to pat Erik's forearm. "I just wonder if I'm the right one for the job. What if I'm only making it worse? Hiding them from the real world-"

Unconvinced, Erik presses, "What ‘real world’? There is only one world, Charles. To grow up safe, to be told without reservation that you are good- those shouldn't be privileges. You don’t make a child weak by loving them."

He's right. Mutant children are the most vulnerable. The things Charles has seen happen to them, the things that have been allowed to happen to them... It's good to be reminded that simply by giving his students a home, he is helping. And hearing that from Erik, who doesn't hold his tongue about Charles' failings, reaffirms his resolution more than any half-hearted reassurance he could have given himself.

He can do this.

He must do this.

 

***

 

The state of New York requires that all publicly-funded schools have at least one assembly each school year about counters. As a private school, Charles’ venture is under no obligation to do this, but he, along with the rest of the staff, decided early on that the school would follow the state’s lead in this. He remembers his teachers’ bleak expressions as they recalled their own education on counters. They all came through the system before soulmate education and assemblies reassuring self-conscious pre-teens that there was no such thing as a bad counter. What he does not remember is the conversation that decided he would be the one to give the assembly.

“So you see,” he says, voice uncomfortably loud, “counters come in many forms- including some which manifest at the zero hour and multiple counters. All of these are natural- and yes, even voids, whose counters have reached the zero hour without meeting a soulmate.”

His voice is steady as he mentions what their society still considers the worst outcome. To be a void is to be unwanted, undeserving. A mutation of a far more dangerous form than any of his students’.

 

***

 

Taking a cue from Erik, when the weather gets hot, Charles swaps the protection afforded him by his cardigans for a watch with a wide band. It makes Raven frown- she knew his number was getting low around the day of the party and isn't happy about him “keeping his soulmate" from her- but for the others, it's rude to ask about someone's counter, so they keep their curiosity to themselves.

But it isn’t only adults in his life. Charles works with children, and sometimes questions are inevitable.

Like now, with a miserable Jean Grey.

She's still sniffling but fortunately isn't crying anymore. She isn't trying to claw off her hand either, which is also good. The counter wasn't damaged by her blunt nails- that skin is tougher than usual- but the flesh around it is bleeding sluggishly.

"You're sure it's normal?" she asks quietly. "I've never heard of anyone having two counters, and I'm already a freak-"

"You are not a freak," Charles cuts in as gently as he can. "I have been a telepath since before you were born. I know freaks, Miss Grey, and you, I must say, are horribly, terribly normal. Two counters, mutation, and all."

She glances up at him but quickly returns her gaze to her wrist.

It will take time for her to grow accustomed to this, he knows. Counters are too personal for her fears to be soothed with a few words in the infirmary.

"What's yours say?" she asks suddenly.

Charles has been waiting for her to ask, but the question still catches him off-guard. It has occurred to him that while she is more mature than her peers, she is also more in need of reassurance. And telling her the truth would benefit them both.

"I already met my soulmate," he says instead, lying easily. She gives him a pinched look, almost disbelieving, but it smooths quickly.

Her voice is steady as she asks, with careful uninterest, "Will we get to meet them?"

"Maybe." Charles gives her what he hopes is a sly shrug. "We'll see."

 

***

 

That weekend, when Erik is lying, sweaty and panting, sprawled bonelessly across his lap, Charles puts his forehead to Erik's shoulder and wishes, for a crazy moment, that Erik were his.

 

***

 

Somehow, Charles gets through the school year. The children who can leave, do. The ones who can't, spend their days doing... whatever it is children do. Charles is swamped with paperwork, and while he makes sure to put in an appearance at least once a day, he just doesn't have the energy for more than that.

He and Moira do get a crash course in Ivy, some video site the kids love, when Bobby breaks an arm and needs to be brought to the hospital. Charles lets Bobby guide him through the most popular artists and only finds his attention slipping a few times. On the whole, he finds the idea of ten-second videos intriguing. Even Bobby’s less successful attempt awes him- the attention to detail, the amount of story packed into just a couple seconds… It’s a true skill. He says as much, at which Bobby blushes and ducks his head.

A nurse calls for the boy a moment later, and within the hour, they emerge. Bobby's arm is encased in a cast, attention returned to his phone and his friends, though he does manage to cut a look in Charles’ direction as he forces out an awkward thank you.

 _Teenagers_ , Charles thinks in amusement.

Moira and he trade knowing looks as they pull out of the hospital parking lot.

 

***

 

"Checkmate."

Startling, Charles shakes off the thoughtful haze he had been stewing in. It doesn’t take much effort to realize Erik does in fact have him beaten. The loss doesn't surprise him- he scarcely remembers playing- as much as Erik's unusual acceptance of Charles' distraction does. Playing chess somehow became a form of foreplay with them, and Erik is as insistent on Charles' attention on the play as he is in bed.

"I'm sorry, Erik," Charles says with a huff as he tips his king. "I've got a lot on my mind."

"Anything you'd care to share?"

The hell of it is, Charles _would_ care to share. Erik's insight would be welcome given how close he and Raven are. If anyone could tell Charles how he stepped in it this time, it would be Erik.

But that's not what they are. That's not what this is.

"I'll be fine," he tells Erik, mentally shaking off the creeping gloom. "I can think of better things to do with our time."

 

***

 

Sometimes, when Erik is distracted, Charles runs his fingers over the metal cuff. It fits seamlessly with Erik's flesh, the ridge between thin metal and warm skin indiscernible. It's Erik's own work, too. Charles feels an unwarranted pride swell in his chest whenever he thinks of the skill Erik has with his gift. He could as easily have become a sculptor as a locksmith.

Sometimes, Charles likes to pretend he can feel Erik’s counter _tick tick ticking_ away the countdown to Erik's departure from Charles' side.

Sometimes, Charles feels Erik's mind shy from his gift.

Sometimes, Charles wishes he had a kinder mutation.

 

***

 

It's the middle of July when it happens.

Charles is sitting at his big oak desk, working on the schedule for the next school year, when someone clears their throat.

"Just a moment," Charles calls absently. He may lose track of time after that, absorbed as he is in his work, so it's a surprise when his laptop shuts itself.

"That," a familiar voice says, "was longer than a moment."

Flicking his eyes up, Charles squints at Erik's face. He tries to be annoyed, but there's an energy crackling around the man. Erik is always at his most irresistible when he's excited.

"Erik,” Charles hears himself say, instead of complaining. “What brings you here, my friend?"

Ginger brows climb up Erik's forehead. "Your sister tells me you've been holed up here for weeks."

"You missed me," Charles teases.

Erik doesn't take the bait. "I did," he says seriously. "And I worried about you. Which is why you're coming with me."

"To do what?" Charles asks, as if he isn’t pathetically grateful for the excuse to leave his office.

Erik offers one of his toothy grins. "We’re going on a picnic."

 

***

 

Erik, it turns out, does not half-ass picnics. He has a big metal basket, which he floats along beside them as they make their way over the grass. When he finds a spot he likes, Erik nods to himself and sends Charles a mental nudge.

A massive blanket emerges from the basket, and once it's spread out on the ground, Charles wheels up to the edge.

"May I?" Erik asks, appearing at his elbow.

Charles nods. After all their time together, Erik has learned how to help Charles into and out of his chair without trashing Charles' dignity. With his back to a tree, Charles watches Erik sit down gracefully.

A group of children are playing catch not far away. Charles glances away from Erik to watch them for a moment. They're laughing, their minds alight with the joy of the game.

 _This,_ Charles thinks, _is it_. This is what he works for.

Returning his attention to Erik, Charles watches him unpack the basket. Erik is lit up from the noon sun, his hair glinting brightly, the curves of his biceps bunching and flexing, as he pulls out dish after dish. After dish. After dish.

"Sweet Christ, Erik," Charles says when the final dish comes to rest on the blanket. "Where did you get all this food?"

Ducking his head, Erik clears his throat. "My mother insisted."

Edie Lehnsherr is a figure of mystery to Charles. He knows Erik adores her, that she was the one who talked him into becoming a locksmith, and, after taking a bite of a sandwich, that she makes delicious food. Without meaning to, Charles takes slice after slice of the sandwiches. Erik takes a few for himself but seems largely content to watch Charles stuff his face. Which is good, because once he moves onto the bagels, there is no stopping Charles.

At one point, Bobby appears, Kitty and Rogue at his side. The three are nearly inseparable. Kitty is the one to shout hello to Charles, her smile wide as she waves at him. Charles returns her wave happily and nods at the other two. Rogue turns immediately to a suspiciously pink Bobby, who gives her a mostly playful shove. He ducks his head and leaves without saying hello to Charles. The girls trade looks before following.

“That boy,” Erik says lazily, “has a crush on you.”

“Stop that,” Charles admonishes.

“He does.”

“I know.”

“And?”

Charles pinches the bridge of his nose. _“And_ my soulmate is not a child, so I’m happy to say his affections don’t affect me.”

Erik, oddly, seems discomfited by that. “Soulmates aren’t the only relationships that matter, Charles.”

“Of course they aren’t.”

They talk about other things as they eat. Erik keeps to subjects that don't make them fight, and Charles is glad to talk about new mutant musicians and the latest thing the girls are doing with their hair. Braiding in plastic red m’s is the newest craze, a reclamation of the m’s on their ID cards that mark them out as mutants. Even some of the boys have gotten into it. Charles himself has a pin for his lapel that one of the younger students gave him. “Because you’ve got no hair,” the boy told him seriously.

It's as they're slicing into the pie, Erik laughing at a joke he made at Charles' expense, that the children begin shouting in earnest. Ever watchful, Charles twists to get an eye on them, only to discover the children are blotted out by a rapidly approaching Frisbee. He doesn't have time to duck, can only throw his arms in front of his face and hope that's enough. The impact never comes, though. He hears the snap of plastic on skin but never feels it. When he cracks one eye open, he discovers Erik lying haphazardly on his side, food asunder, grinning up at Charles like the cat that got the cream as he twirls the Frisbee around one finger.

Charles lets out a breath. "You're going to be insufferable about this, aren't you?"

Erik only grins harder.

Jean comes running over before Charles can think of something snappy to say in return. She hesitates for a long moment at the edge of the blanket, looking between them as if she's just interrupted something.

"Sorry, Professor," she says at last, even as she glances at Erik. "We got a little carried away."

"It's fine, Jean. No harm done," he assures her. "Erik, would you mind handing the Frisbee over?"

A twitch of his lips says Erik is considering not doing that, just to rile Charles.

"I think it's really cool, by the way," Jean blurts.

Confused, Charles looks back at her. She's staring at her shoes, cheeks almost violently red, but she makes herself say, "That you brought your soulmate. To the school. I didn't think you would."

"Soulmate?" Charles echoes, feeling as if he's been suddenly knocked out of his body.

"Frisbee," Erik says when Charles fails to speak. "Your friends must be waiting."

Jean must take it and go, because a moment later, Erik is sitting up and laying one of his hands on Charles' shoulder.

"You with me, Charles?" he asks lowly. Charles nods, and Erik relaxes, flashes him a forced smile. "Come on. I wouldn't be such a bad soulmate, would I?"

"No, I, ah, I suppose you wouldn't," Charles says weakly. "You'll be a great catch one day."

Everything turns stiff after that. Erik plays with his slice of pie rather than eating it. Charles sets his plate aside, no longer hungry. In the end, Erik packs up in silence, walks Charles back inside in silence, and, after a stilted farewell, heads off to his car in silence.

The moment he disappears, Charles lets out a long, shaky breath.

Someone mistaking a friend for a soulmate is hardly the end of the world. It isn't common- the bond between soulmates is especially vibrant, and to a telepath, the lack of that should have signaled to Jean that she was off-base. She is young, though. Her powers are still settling in her skull. She is going to make mistakes.

It isn't her fault that she hit the one nerve Charles can't protect. Being able to introduce someone as his soulmate has been his dream since he was a boy. That he's never going to be able to do it stings. But he’s coping. He is.

 

***

 

Not two weeks after the picnic, Charles gets the call from Erik. It doesn't quite come as a surprise- Charles entered into this with his eyes open. Erik is a handsome, eligible man in his thirties. He was clear from the start that he wants a family one day- that he would make a family with his soulmate when he found them went without saying.

Even knowing all that, even wanting to see his friend happy, Charles still struggles not to drop his phone when Erik says, "I found someone."

Heart hammering in his ears, Charles feels himself nod as if from a distance. "I see," he hears himself say a moment later. "Congratulations, Erik. I'm so happy for you."

Erik coughs. "It isn't- Thank you."

Silence falls and stretches between them, only growing more awkward with the passing seconds.

Charles summons his courage. "Have you two been together long-"

"She wants to meet you."

"Pardon?"

"She- Magda wants to meet you."

"That doesn't sound like a very good idea," Charles hedges. "Even if she knows what we are- what we were- it would still be uncomfortable..."

"I told her that. She insists." Erik says that in the tone of someone who has fought hard but lost the battle anyway.

Charles would rather not meet Magda, but Erik sounds lost and unhappy. They are, after all, friends. The benefits may be off the table now, but the friendship remains. And that is worth more than a little awkwardness to Charles.

"If she insists," he says with a sigh.

For his part, Erik sounds little happier when he says, "Great. We'll see you at Moira's on Sunday?"

"Sure thing."

When he finally hangs up, Charles bangs his head on his desk and doesn't stop until Kitty Pryde phases through the door, only to fall through the floor a moment later.

Drawing a deep breath, Charles rubs at his forehead and wonders if he can't retire and fly somewhere nice like the moon.

 

***

 

Magda is gorgeous- big brown eyes, flawless skin, a smile full of perfect white teeth. She's distinctly shorter than Erik, though the curls piled artfully around her face try to narrow the gap. Her eyes are warm, and when she spots Charles, they widen in recognition. Without waiting for Erik, she marches through the crowd to Charles' side, where she comes an abrupt stop and says, without introducing herself, "Fuck me. Your eyes really _are_ blue."

The smile she gives him afterwards is friendly, and Charles finds himself smiling back as he shakes her hand. This may not be as terrible as he feared.

Erik appears a second later, a wary look in his eyes.

Magda rolls hers. "I truly do not care that you two fucked, Erik. I care that he knows how much you sulk and still likes you."

By the end of the night, everyone is hammered and Charles is almost done being envious of how comfortable Magda looks at Erik's side.

 

***

 

Erik and Magda date for three years.

 

***

 

The breakup, when it comes, is a surprise for everyone but them. Magda couldn't cope with Erik's temperament, a development Charles hums at in understanding. Erik's temper took him a long time to adjust to himself, and they didn't have nearly as much time together for him get used to it. For a person whose character is as bright and cheerful as Magda's, he can only imagine how hard Erik's dark moods were to weather.

"She wasn't my soulmate," Erik says as he drops his head onto Charles' lap. They are on the couch in the study, Charles sat on one cushion and Erik spread out across the length of the cushions and over the arm. Without meaning to, Charles drops a hand to Erik's head and begins running his fingers through the soft, ginger strands. Erik closes his eyes and sighs.

"You had a good run, though," Charles reminds him gently. "I don't know many people who can keep up a relationship with a non-soulmate for as long as you did."

"She deserved better."

"Most of us do."

Cracking one eye open, Erik studies Charles for a long time. "You never date," he says slowly.

"They aren't my soulmate," Charles says, neatly dodging the real question.

Erik, however, will not be put off. "You don't get lonely?" he presses, both eyes sliding open. "I know you, Charles. You can fool the others, but you can't fool me. All this work, giving the children all your time... You weren't made to be isolated like this."

He's right, and he knows it, so Charles says nothing.

"I want us back."

There’s no point in lying. "Me, too."

Erik frowns, inevitably sensing Charles’ reservations. "But...?"

"But I'm terribly busy for the foreseeable future," Charles lies. "I just don't have the time, Erik."

"Then I'll wait."

"Erik..."

"I can be patient," Erik tells him mildly, eyes falling shut. "You'll see."

 _Patience_ , Charles thinks sadly, _is not the virtue we need_.

 

***

 

Before they broke up, Erik and Magda spent a lot of time with Charles. _A lot_ of time. So much time that Charles had ample opportunity to see how Erik mellowed around her. How he softened, trying to blunt his sharp edges so she wouldn't get hurt on them. It was a courtesy he never bothers with around Charles. That didn't rankle at the time, exactly, but it does make Charles wish he had that kind of pull. Magda had Erik's attention constantly, and she wasn't even his soulmate. Charles could never manage that. Erik always holds himself at a distance with Charles. It's something Charles had gotten so used to, he had almost forgotten that it wasn't normal.

Yet always, when Erik was around, Charles' wrist would burn warmly, as if taunting him.

_Too bad he isn’t yours._

_You should have asked for more when you could._

_Maybe if you’d said something, he wouldn’t have needed Magda._

_Don’t begrudge him his happiness._

_If only you knew what his counter said…_

 

***

 

Erik moves into one of the spare rooms in the mansion during the winter of his fifth year in Charles' acquaintance. There was a break in, and there is no one Charles trusts more to refit the locks than Erik. It's a big job, though, and it was obvious to everyone involved that Erik should just take one of the spare rooms until he finished.

Charles should have known having Erik so near would be a bad idea. Erik steals into Charles' room almost every night, the next day's clothes in hand. He sleeps in Charles' bed, drools on Charles' pillows, showers in Charles' bathroom. He wakes Charles before the alarm with terrible breath and a smug smile.

It's everything Charles can't keep, and the effort of hiding his mounting sadness from Erik runs him ragged.

There is a tendency in the Xavier line, toward heavy drinking. Sharon was an Xavier through marriage only, but she continued the legacy admirably and passed the habit onto her son when her husband could not.

Charles waits for an evening when Erik is going to be busy working. That's the key to good drinking: strategy. Pick a time when the interruptions will be minimal- midterms, for example- hole up somewhere out of the way, and enjoy a good drink.

Unfortunately, Erik has a strong motivation to be done quickly, so Charles is only on his second glass of wine when the door opens and Erik slips inside.

A wave of second-hand curiosity washes over Charles. Erik has never seen him drink, let alone found him swaddled in blankets and hunched protectively over a bottle of rosé. His glass is safe in his right hand, his wrist heating as it always does when Erik draws close.

"What are you doing?" Erik asks, soft and curious, as he grabs a chair.

"I'm drinking," Charles explains patiently.

"So I see. Any reason in particular?"

"I wanted to."

Unimpressed, Erik narrows his eyes, the first hint of annoyance. But he says nothing. He wants to talk, though. Charles can feel it. Erik just doesn't know how to say what he wants to say. Needs to say. It's gnawing at him, keeping quiet about this thing he wants to say.

 _Understandable,_ Charles thinks.

Erik isn't good at keeping to himself. He's been too lonely for too long to tolerate isolation. His body is touched starved even now. He practically purrs when Charles so much as touches his shoulder. And the mind is more demanding than the body. Its cravings are harder to ignore. More dangerous when unsatisfied.

Feeling charitable, Charles holds out the bottle. "Want some?"

Erik nods and takes it. The wine isn't kosher, but Erik already knows that. His relationship with that part of him is complicated and illogical. Some things he keeps. Others, the ones that make his gut roll with guilt, he's put aside. There is no pattern. No way of predicting what Erik will cherish and what will upset him.

Charles is past the point where he tried to figure it out. Erik is full of contradictions. That’s just how he is.

"Cheap," Erik says suddenly, startling Charles from his thoughts. His mouth is pinched unhappily; he looks like a little boy eating broccoli.

"Yet you're taking another sip," Charles replies.

Erik shrugs. _Maybe I want to be drunk._

Maybe he does. But that isn't what's prickling under his skin.

They drink in silence for a time, Charles sipping at his glass and Erik drawing long swallows from the bottle. It's a comfortable quiet between them. Erik watches him with his eerie pale eyes, his mind ticking as he catalogs everything about Charles. He watches Charles' throat work and remembers the night before with a sharp appreciation, takes in Charles' loose bed jacket and thinks of running his hands over the fabric while they kiss, runs his gift over Charles' chair with a guilty pang of appreciation- they haven't discussed this, but Charles is well aware of Erik's complicated feelings about Charles being encased in metal. They aren't exactly good thoughts, but they aren't entirely bad either. Erik likes feeling as if he has some control over keeping Charles safe. He's lost so much in his life, Charles can't begrudge him the impulse to be glad for the wheelchair.

His appreciation of Charles isn't rooted in the chair. He likes their fights, the way Charles rallies and always leaves him feeling like he's had a good fight. Watching Charles with the children leaves his chest warm. This place is a good place, he knows, and Charles feeds off that certainty.

When Charles drains the last of his glass, Erik holds out the bottle without being promoted, accepts it back when Charles finishes pouring.

Eventually, the wine gets the better of Charles.

"How come we've never showed each other our counters?" he asks.

Erik stiffens, his mind recoiling sharply before locking down rapidly.

"Why should we care?" Erik replies, almost careless. He caught up with Charles quickly. "If we aren't soulmates, there's no reason for us to look."

"Well, no, but we are close," Charles presses, and suddenly he feels old. Old and very, very small. A man with a world on his shoulders and no relief in sight. He doesn't want to be this man. He doesn't want to have to hide who he is- he is a proud mutant, a proud bisexual, a proud man. He is unafraid of social judgment. Why should he hide this?

Erik hasn't relaxed. If anything, he's gotten more tense.

"You know what? Forget I said anything. Let's just grab another moment and keep drinking-"

As he makes to wheel away to grab another bottle, Erik catches his arm. Charles doesn't want to break Erik’s grip. If it were up to him, Erik would never let go of him.

If only.

"Why do you care so much?" Erik asks. He sounds lost, looks even more so.

"I don't-"

Erik's brows climb his forehead. "You think I haven't noticed? Charles, you constantly touch my wrist. I can feel you looking when you think I'm not paying attention to you."

Charles feels himself flush. "I don't- That is- You do it, too!"

It isn't until the words have left his mouth that Charles realizes they are true. Erik is more subtle about it, but when they sleep together, Erik always winds up with his hands clasped around Charles' wrists. Those flares of possessiveness that sometimes follow Erik finishing- they always accompany Erik coming on Charles' wrist. And when they bathe, Erik always takes longer on Charles’ right side, always starts on the right side, whereas the left only gets a brisk wash.

The playground rebuttal gets an equally childish response from Erik.

"Come on, then," he says lowly. "You show me your wrist, and I'll show you mine."

And Charles, who is endlessly tired of fighting, does.

"There it is," he says once everything is out of the way and Erik can see the zeroes. "I'm a void."

Whatever response he'd expected, Erik releasing his elbow to run gentle fingers over the delicate skin of Charles' wrist isn't it. Erik, eyes fluttering shut, taking Charles' hand and kissing his palm isn't it.

"Erik?"

"I knew it," Erik says roughly. "I knew you were mine."

Charles swallows hard. "What are talking about? You aren't making any sense."

Eyes opening, Erik releases Charles' hand and, holding his left hand above his right, uses his gift to slide the metal cuff off. The skin it reveals is lighter than the rest, pink stark against the pale band of skin of his wrist. The puckered skin in the middle of it is impossible to miss, the numbers that ought to be where it is conspicuously missing.

For a long moment, all Charles can do is blink.

_It can't be._

"You," he breathes, staring at the scar. "What happened to you?"

"Shaw," Erik says, the name acid on his tongue, spat out in weathered fury. "I had to prove my dedication to his gang. What greater devotion could there be than carving up my promise of happiness?"

 _My God,_ Charles thinks in horror. Counters are sacred even without their religious ties. To have asked Erik of all people to do such a thing... It is a very good thing Shaw is dead. If Erik hadn't killed him, in this moment, Charles might have.

"So you won't know when you find your soulmate," he says quietly, Erik's loss sharp in his own mind. “You might have already missed them-”

But how? Who would see Erik and not immediately want to keep him?

Erik shakes his head, a sudden urgency filling his mind. "No, Charles, I have my soulmate."

"But you've- we've- Erik, what are you doing here? You should be with them."

"I have been with him," Erik insists. Narrowing his eyes, he says, "You haven’t figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Charles snaps.

“Charles, you fool, you're my soulmate."

"But that's- How can you know that? Your counter-"

Erik squeezes Charles’ arm. "Your counter hit zero during Raven's party, didn't it?"

"It did."

"I felt it, then. The moment you knocked into me, I knew you were the one my counter would have stopped for."

Charles watches Erik take his hands as if from a distance.

Erik is his soulmate? After all this time, his closest friend has been the person he thought lost to him for good?

"Why didn't you ever say anything?" he whispers.

Erik's mind wobbles as if struck. "I thought you wouldn’t believe me. At first I doubted myself. I wondered if I was just projecting my own loneliness. Then, you seemed so content with what we were, I didn't want to rock the boat. But I want you, Charles. You're the one for me; I know it."

"What about Magda?" Charles asks, hurt despite himself.

"It got to me, only getting to be near you sometimes. I thought backing away would be better than that." Erik's expression turns wry. "I was wrong, and Magda saw through me."

"Is that why you broke up?"

"No." Erik doesn't elaborate, and Charles, sensing that he's pushed enough for one day, doesn't press him.

There are more things to discuss, but Charles is too tired to bother with them. His entire sense of self is reeling.

Too tired to do anything else, he asks, "Come to bed?" and Erik, who looks and feels equally drained, nods.

By the time they crawl under the sheets, Erik is practically asleep standing up and Charles does an admirable job of flopping out of his chair. As they have every night before, they gravitate toward the middle, Erik wearily throwing an arm over Charles' back and curling a leg over his ass.

"G'night, Erik," Charles sighs.

"I hope you have Gatorade up here," Erik grumbles back. "We are going to be hungover tomorrow."

 

***

 

True to form, Charles wakes up to the thump of Erik falling onto the floor.

 _Fuck me,_ Erik thinks as he crawls to the bathroom. His mind is a whirl of regret and nausea and sensory overload.

"Grab me a bottle on your way back," Charles calls mournfully. "They're in the nightstand."

_It's two feet away, Charles. And stop shouting._

_Please?_

Erik sighs, and Charles counts himself victorious- until Erik comes back and drops the Gatorade on Charles' head.

 

***

 

Sometime later, Raven kicks the door open.

Erik immediately cuddles closer to Charles and bravely ducks his head so it's hidden in Charles' armpit. The sound of him gagging almost covers up Raven's incredulous, "It's a Wednesday!" Almost.

"So?" Charles whines.

"You have class, _Professor_."

"Oh.” Charles thinks about that for a minute. “Class is canceled?”

She stares at him for a long time, eyes narrowing into angry yellow slits, until finally she tosses her hair and says, "Fine, but you're coming up with your own excuses. I suggest you don't tell the staff you were hungover and Erik was feeling friendly."

"How do you know it's Erik?" Charles challenges her. The duvet has Erik well hidden. There could be anyone under it.

Raven rolls her eyes. "Oh, let's see... He was last seen walking into your study, we found an empty bottle of wine, and no one here wants to get on a locksmith's bad side by messing with his one true love."

"Pardon?" Charles blurts. How did she find out? Did he project without realizing it?

"Don't tell me thought you two were being subtle. I've seen the way you look at each other." Raven's face morphs into Charles', twists her- his- features into an overwrought expression of sadness.

On the one hand, Charles is glad not to have lost control of his mutation. On the other hand, was he the last one to figure this out?

He and Erik need to talk.

"What's the likelihood of you telling everyone I came down with a bit of a cold? I'll owe you one," he adds, sweetening the pot. "But you have to put the door back."

His sister doesn't hesitate. "I'll tell them you got a cold and Erik is looking after you," she says quickly. "And be warned: I _will_ hold you to owing me that favor."

"Yes, yes, now go. Before one of the students sees something I don't want to explain."

"Sure thing, Professor!" Then she's bounding off, only stopping to toss the door over the doorway.

A moment later, Erik's head emerges from the covers. "We," he says with a cough, "need to shower."

 

***

 

The shower is perfect. Erik sits next to him on the wide bench and works the shower head while Charles takes care of soaping them up. It isn't like their usual showers. There isn't any laughter, no splashing at each other or teasing at things to come. Erik is almost reverent as he washes the shampoo out of Charles' hair. His touch is gentle but sure, his mouth pressed into a thin line of concentration. He lifts Charles’ arms slowly, lets Charles run his hands over Erik’s body in return without trying to up the ante.

When they finish, Erik grabs their towels and dries Charles off with a delicacy that has nothing to do with paralysis or hesitation. Charles returns the favor with a similar feeling.

They aren't the same as they were this time yesterday, and uncertainty is lying over them, turning every touch, every glance, into something laden with meaning that has never been there before.

But it's good. It feels right for them to be careful with each other now.

The chaste kiss Charles presses to Erik's forehead when he helps Charles back into bed feels as charged as their first kiss. The brush of Erik's fingers against Charles' cheek as he tucks a stray curl behind his ear sends electricity sparking down his spine.

"So," Charles says at last, when it becomes clear one of them needs to say something, "we're soulmates."

"We are," Erik agrees. He is lying on his side beside Charles, elbow bent and head resting on his hand.

"And you knew."

"I did."

"But I didn't."

Erik cocks his head, catching onto the fact that Charles isn't just talking for the hell of it. "You didn't," he says slowly.

"You dated Magda. You were serious about her."

"I tried to be."

Now it's Charles' turn to cock his head. "You tried to be?"

"I always knew you were there," Erik admits. He scrubs his free hand through his hair. "If you had found someone and been happy, I might have been able to settle down with her, but you didn't. You were always there, waiting. How was I supposed to stop wanting you?"

His voice turns rough at the last, and Charles is struck by the realization of how close he came to losing Erik.

Reaching over, he takes one of Erik's hands in his. Erik has good hands, both of them graceful and clever despite their knobby joints. But holding hands isn't enough for him. He tugs at Erik until the man gets the idea and rolls on top of him. They didn't bother getting dressed, so it's only a matter of untucking a corner of Erik's towel to get him naked once more.

Quirking a brow- Erik isn't especially good at being serious when they fuck, and there's a lightness in his mind that says everything is good, everything is as it should be- Erik tugs off Charles' towel before stretching out over him.

Sex post-accident is more complicated than it was before. Charles had feared from the beginning that he would lose all spontaneity. And for a long time, he had. What few relationships he had, had been meticulously planned-out.

Then came Erik.

Erik, who is as comfortable on the astral plane as he is on earth. Erik, who is as imaginative as he is playful. Erik who learned quickly not to take Charles' lack of erection personally. Erik who proved to be as content to spend an hour necking as he would be getting fucked.

They don't move to the astral plane this time. There is always a sense of disconnection there, and Charles wants to feel everything. He slings his arms around Erik's neck, gently tugging him down for a kiss Erik is happy to give. It's soft and sweet. _Hello_ , it says. _I'm yours. Keep me._

That is exactly what Charles intends to do.

Sliding one hand down Erik's back, Charles fits his palm over the gentle curve of one side of Erik's ass. He kneads the firm muscle, enjoys Erik's shudder of pleasure as he traces his thumb along the edge of Erik's cheek.

Through the mental link, he feels Erik getting hard.

 _Good_ , Erik's mind sings. _Keep doing that._

Charles does, occasionally sliding his thumb down to tease at Erik's hole. Each time, Erik pushes back against him, a throaty moan on his lips.

Pressed against Erik's hard length, Charles is half-hard. It isn't enough to do anything with, but Erik grins wolfishly and rolls his hips.

"Lube," Charles gasps, reeling from the weight of Erik's lust. "Same drawer as the Gatorade. It's got a metal cap."

Erik doesn't tease him about that now, but he probably will later. That's fine, though. Everything is fine as Erik gestures for the lube and snags it out of the air. Opens the top with a loud pop.

Charles reaches deeper into Erik's mind to feel the cool slide of his hand as he coats them both in lube. It isn't because Erik expects Charles will get fully hard. He doesn't. More like... he just likes touching Charles. And Charles likes being touched. He's missed it, every kind of touch. Not just sex, but the friendly, knowing touches just to show affection.

Erik mixes both now. He holds Charles in place with one hand on his hip, the other arm braced by Charles' head, his thumb stroking Charles' forehead. He sets an easy rhythm, one Charles helps by pulling him down and forward with the hand still gripping Erik's backside.

Yet riding along in Erik's head is the real turn-on. Erik can't stop looking down their bodies, his mind ensnared by the sight of his cock sliding along Charles'. His thoughts are full of Charles: how good he looks, pink and ruffled; the way he smells like the same shampoo Erik used but fundamentally different; the way Charles tastes when he bends down for a kiss; the softness of Charles' skin, the wiry hair on his belly, the calluses on his hands; the noises Charles makes, so many of them bitten off for fear of being overheard. Erik's own heavy breathing, his breaths coming in pants as he moves the hand on Charles' hip in order to take them both in hand.

Heat slowly builds in Erik's belly as he deftly jerks them together.

When he comes, he collapses onto Charles with a low moan. He lies there for a long time, hair flopping over his forehead, still wet with sweat, as Charles strokes his cheek. Erik turns into Charles' hand, nosing sleepily at Charles' palm like a lazy cat.

"You," he sighs. "My soulmate."

Charles can't fight the smile that stretches his lips. "My soulmate," he echoes happily. Erik is already almost asleep, so Charles presses a quick kiss to his forehead. "Sleep now, yeah?"

Erik nods but doesn't roll away, and Charles, warmed by the affection pouring off Erik, doesn't make him.

 

***

 

Telling the school that Erik is his soulmate is a strange process. The students are largely unmoved. Charles inhabits the strange world between teacher and parent, where the students are studiously uninterested in his personal life. They take the news that the metal man is their professor's soulmate with a collective, "Oh. Will this impact our homework?" As it will not, they accept the revelation with minimal reaction.

The exception is Jean Grey. She knocks on his door during her study hall, which coincides with Charles' prep period, and slips inside. Her head is ducked, shoulders up to her ears.

"Hello, Professor," she says quietly. "Do you have a moment?"

Charles smiles up at her, well aware of why she came. "I do. Come sit down."

She relaxes minutely as she takes a seat in the chair across Charles' desk.

"You're here about Erik and me, aren't you?" Charles prompts when she merely sits there, looking at anywhere but at him. Her mind rings with alarm, so he reaches out with his gift to reassure her. _No anger here,_ he soothes. _No anger._

It takes some convincing, but Jean does manage to scrape together the courage to ask, "Why did you lie? If you knew he was your soulmate, why-"

"Because I didn't know."

Jean stops, blinks at him, her mind at a loss.

Charles takes pity on her. "It's complicated, and not entirely my story to tell, but at the time of the picnic, I was not aware that Erik was my soulmate."

"Oh."

She isn't happy to hear that news- if anything, it makes her deflate further.

"What's wrong, Jean?"

Gnawing in her lip, she flicks her eyes between Charles and the window. "I just- If it's so easy to miss your soulmate, what's the point?"

Charles feels his chest tighten in sympathy. The poor girl is still struggling with the fact that she has two counters. "I don't have an easy answer, I'm afraid. I don't know why we evolved these, or how, any more than I know why Scott's eyes shoot lasers and you can read minds. But there is happiness to be found, Jean. You've grown used to your gifts, haven't you?" She nods. "You’ll grow used to this, too. Have faith in yourself, Jean. You’re a tough young woman."

Jean nods, fears only momentarily assuaged, before getting to her feet and leaving.

Moments later, Erik takes her place.

"Shouldn't you be working?" Charles asks, quirking a brow.

Erik gives him his most innocent expression. "I'm taking a break."

"Of course you are. What brings you here, then?"

"I heard what you said to the girl. 'Have faith.'"

"If you're here to reprimand me..."

Erik shakes his head but doesn't explain his unusual decision to visit with Charles during school hours. He's been good from the start about keeping what's between them that way, only appearing during working hours to ask after something relevant to his work. Yet here he is. In Charles' office, watching him with an easy warmth in his eyes that makes Charles' face heat.

He stays like that for a long time, his mouth quirking into a gentle smile. Charles resists the urge to look into the newly opened parts of Erik's mind for answers. He doesn't need them. There's contentment and pleasure in Erik that have never been there before; he's practically glowing with happiness as he slowly gets to his feet. It’s enough to know Erik is happy.

"What are you up to?" Charles asks lightly. The answer is obvious in the way Erik carefully places his hands on the desk.

Erik's breath washes over Charles' mouth as he bumps their foreheads together.

A flicker of amusement is the only warning Charles gets before Erik purrs, "Professor, I've been a _very_ bad boy."

Snorting, Charles reaches up and gives his soulmate's ear a flick. "You're outrageous."

Erik's gaze doesn't waver. "I love you."

Charles feels his chest constrict. "I love you, too. Even if you are ridiculous."

That makes Erik huff a laugh, and a moment later, he ducks his head to press a light kiss to the corner of Charles' mouth.

"I'll see you tonight." It isn't a question, and Charles can't help but smile. They don't wonder about seeing each other anymore. They don't have to ask to sleep in bed overnight. Erik will be there when Charles goes to bed, and he will be there when Charles wakes again, fingers curled loosely around the numbers that mark Charles as his, even as Charles does the same.


End file.
